


The Black Sheep of Skyhold

by The_Real_Fenris



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Coming Out, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Family Drama, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Meet the Family, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Skyhold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 04:44:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4208385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Real_Fenris/pseuds/The_Real_Fenris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There had been no trace of snideness or disrespect in Dorian’s reply, however Lord Trevelyan’s color grew livid, his voice harsh. 'Let me make my question clear for you. What is the exact nature of your relationship with my son?'"</p><p>When the Inquisitor's estranged family comes to Skyhold, they discover that the woman their son is rumored to be dating is actually... Dorian. The Inquisitor's father does not approve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Leliana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor discusses some news with his spymaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a little story about the Inquisitor coming out to his family. Borderline fluff, really.
> 
> I made this Trevelyan as a relatively young Inquisitor, but he's a decent guy who's always trying to be honest and do the right thing. Which is why Dorian adores him so.

 Maxwell Trevelyan stepped out of Josephine’s office, frowning to himself.

Leliana prided herself on knowing everything that happened at Skyhold, no matter how trivial or insignificant. However, after considering and discarding several possibilities, the source of the Inquisitor’s displeasure was still a mystery. And not knowing was unacceptable.

As she stepped up to him, the frown disappeared. Fortunately the Inquisitor appreciated her tendency to choose the direct approach, so she didn’t mince words. “Something wrong, Inquisitor? You look troubled.”

“What? Oh, no, it’s nothing,” he said hastily, but then he tilted his head, regarding her, clearly debating something. “Then again...”

He made a gesture for her to follow. Once they had passed out of the hall, away from prying ears, did he speak again.

“You remember the... trouble my family caused, shortly after I became Inquisitor?”

Of course Leliana remembered. She had gone to great lengths to quell the vicious rumors, as well as root out one of the Inquisitor’s distant relatives who had been spying on the Inquisition. “Calling it ‘trouble’ is putting it mildly,” she said. “So, then. There are new developments?”

“Since Corypheus’s defeat, my immediate family has renewed its interest in their wayward son. Mostly in the form of letters with an invitation that I return home.”

Leliana studied him. She knew more about the Trevelyans than Max was aware. Not that he’d made any secret of his past or his feelings about his family. According to Leliana’s sources, however, the estrangement from his family began when his magic had manifested itself at the age of ten, and, as a result, he’d been quickly dumped in the nearest Circle, and forgotten. They’d only remembered him when they needed to send a representative to the Conclave to try to work things out between the mages and the Templars. “A proposition which does not entice you.”

“No. Which is why I’ve asked Josephine to respond to them, with the excuse that I’m too busy rebuilding the world.”

“Which is not untrue.”

Max looked grateful for this small support. “However, in the last missive they sent... well, they’re coming. To Skyhold.”

“I see.” Leliana became thoughtful. “Certainly we could devise some amusements, distract them, so you would not have to linger in their company any longer than protocol dictates.”

Max huffed a lock of hair out of his eyes. “Seeing them isn’t exactly the problem.” He sighed. “Dorian says...” here the usual smile whenever the Inquisitor talked about his lover lit up his face “...well, he’s talked me into giving family reconciliation a chance. Says it’s ‘good for the soul’. And, since it was me who forced Dorian to confront his own father... let’s just say that he’s been enjoying lording that over me a little too much.”

“The Chantry says that forgiveness is divine.”

“I don’t promise forgiveness. However, I am willing to listen to what they have to say.”

That was their Inquisitor – always reasonable. “So. What is the problem exactly?”

“The problem is that my family expressed the keenest desire to meet my closest companion.” Max’s frown now returned in full force. “The _Lady_ Pavus.”

Bubbles of laughter rose in her throat. She managed to keep them from erupting, and did her best to keep her expression neutral. “I see. That is an interesting predicament.”

“Any thoughts on how news, however skewed, of my romantic interests has spread all the way to Ostwick?”

“It isn’t surprising at all. Stories of your feats have spread all over Thedas. People want to know who the real Inquisitor is – what you’re like, what sort of spells you can cast, if you’re really as handsome as rumors say you are – so of course they’re going to speculate about any romantic interests you have, as well.”

Max beamed. “Do they really say I’m handsome?”

“And modest,” Leliana returned with a smile. “Obviously Dorian hasn’t been rubbing off on you.”

Max blinked, then he sniggered. “Well, at least in one sense he has.”

“What? Oh! That’s not what I meant, Inquisitor.”

Max just grinned wickedly.

Being the target of the Inquisitor’s teasing? Leliana didn’t like it. But two could play at that game. “I think I have a solution to your problem, Inquisitor. I shall inform the seamstress that you require her services.”

A crease formed between Max’s brows. “The seamstress?”

“Indeed. And what color ballgown do you think Dorian would like? With his eyes, I think he’d look lovely in green.”

Max opened his mouth, but no words came out. By his appalled expression, no doubt he was picturing Dorian in a dress. Hopefully with jewel-encrusted dancing slippers.

Pleased, Leliana smiled, then relented. “Leave it to me, Inquisitor. I will make certain that word slips about the real gender of your lover to your family before any formal introductions are made, to avoid any awkward misunderstandings.”

Relief washed over his face. “Thank you, Leliana.”


	2. Something in Common

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian meets the Inquisitor's family.

Max leaned back in Dorian’s favorite reading chair, the one he’d insisted on bringing over from the library when he’d finally changed his mind about living in mutual domesticity, watching Dorian preen in the mirror.

“You know, it _is_ sort of exciting, meeting your family and all that,” Dorian remarked in a chipper tone. “Although it might be wise if you were to tell me something about them ahead of time. At the very least, you could tell me how the reunion went.”

Max sifted through his feelings. Josephine had overseen presenting his family to him in a ceremonious manner befitting any nobility, as though they were no more than strangers. Although, considering how long it had been since he’d seen them, they practically _were_ strangers. Seeing his twelve-year-old sister having turned into a fine young woman had been shocking. Even more shocking was when, at the end of the meeting, his mother had placed a hand on his arm, and whispered that she regretted not being able to come to visit him in the Circle.

He caught Dorian’s eye in the mirror. “It was very formal, and mostly painless. The real fun begins at dinner.”

“Dinner _and_ a show? How grand! I was just thinking how dull things have gotten around here. We haven’t killed a Venatori in weeks!”

Max smiled indulgently as Dorian continued fussing with his hair. “I think I’d prefer a room full of Venatori.”

“We’ll stick to the usual plan, then. If things go dreadfully wrong, we’ll just kill everyone in the Hall and make our escape.”

“I’m sure The Iron Bull would enjoy that. He enjoys killing things. As would Sera – nobles.”

Satisfied that his hair was spectacular, Dorian began buttoning up his formal jacket. He met Max’s eyes in the mirror again. “So, _amatus._ Does your family know...?"

“About us?” Max filled in. “They’ve heard the rumors, at any rate.”

“And they’ve no problem with our being together?” He noted how Max’s expression darkened. “You’re making that face again. The one I don’t like.”

“I got the distinct impression that my father and yours would get along swimmingly together, since they have something in common.”

Dorian turned to face him, dismayed. Then he frowned. “I thought that people in the Free Marches were more open-minded than my own countrymen.”

“From what you’ve told me, I’d say in general – yes. My father – apparently not.”

Dorian’s eyes flashed. “Does his opinion really matter to you? A man who cast off his own child just because he was born a mage?”

Quietly, Max said, “He’s still my father. And, although it felt like banishment at the time, sending me to the Circle was the best thing he could have done. When my power manifested, I was a danger to myself and everyone around me. The Circle taught me how to control it.”

The fire in Dorian’s eyes dimmed, though his voice still retained its edge. “Just because it all worked itself out in the end doesn’t mean that what he did was forgivable.”

“I’m well aware of that.” Max sighed. “At least they’re only here for a few days. I’m sure we can manage to be nice to them for that long.”

*****

The dinner party that Josie had devised was not a formal sit-down affair, but a mix and mingle. Along one side of the great hall, tables were laden with food, from which guests could partake of whatever dish caught their fancy. The Hall itself was festooned with garlands of fresh flowers, the banners recently washed and pressed. At one end, near the throne, a trio of musicians played, and the space before them had been cleared out for dancing.

The festivities were already well underway when Max arrived with Dorian. It didn’t take him long to find his family in the crowd. With them was Josephine.

“Good evening,” Max greeted them, with a respectful nod to his father. “I hope you are all enjoying the party so far?”

Bann Trevelyan gestured at Josephine. “Lady Montilyet has been kind enough to keep us company.”

“It is my pleasure,” Josephine said. “May I introduce you to Dorian of House Pavus of Tevinter?”

Bann Trevelyan visibly stiffened. Dorian, ignoring the old man’s glare of distaste, made a graceful bow. “Lord and Lady Trevelyan. Lady Mirelle. The honor is all mine. Your son has told me so many wonderful things about you.”

That was not true, but it elicited a small smile from Max’s mother, so Max forgave him for the lie. Even knowing that Dorian had meant it as a private jab against _him._

Then Dorian surprised him. Holding a hand out to Max’s sister, he asked, “Would you care to dance, Lady Mirelle?”

After a quick glance at Lady Trevelyan for approval, Mirelle took his hand and let him whisk her away to the dance floor.

“Ah! I notice that Duke Lucard of Orlais is among our guests tonight,” Josephine chirped. “He is a delightful and charming man. May I present him to you?”

Thus, Max and his parents were led about the room, being introduced to some esteemed guest or another, and making small talk. Josephine’s clever strategy resulted in two things: one, Max didn’t have to be alone with his parents, trapped in awkward chit chat, and: two, the guests often asked him about the Inquisition, which gave Max a chance to discuss his many accomplishments. He made himself a mental note to thank Josephine later.

It was sometime later, as his father and Michel de Chevin were engaged in a conversation about hunting, that Dorian and Mirelle, looking flustered but happy, returned. As was Dorian’s habit, he slid into his usual place next to Max.

In a lull in the conversation, Michel noted Dorian, and greeted him with a nod.

“Ser de Chevin, I wasn’t aware that you had returned to Skyhold. You’ve been much missed at card game nights.”

“I don’t know why I continue to play, when Varric always wins,” he replied. “Though, I thought you would have left for Tevinter already.”

“Tevinter will still be there later. I have... reasons to stay at Skyhold.”

A baritone voice interrupted them. “Would one of those reasons be my son?”

Dorian turned to Max’s father, who was glaring at him as if Dorian were an unpleasant thing he’d accidentally trod upon and was now clinging tenaciously to his shoe. “Lord Trevelyan. Your son is the Inquisitor. The only reason that any of us is at Skyhold, alive, is because of him.”

There had been no trace of snideness or disrespect in Dorian’s reply, however Lord Trevelyan’s color grew livid, his voice harsh. “Let me make my question clear for you. What is the exact nature of your relationship with my son?”

Breaths caught in throats. All eyes, including those of several onlookers, turned to Dorian, the man who always had a ready reply.

Max, however, spoke first, using what Dorian playfully referred to as his "Inquisitor voice," loud and clear. “Dorian and I are in love.”

Heads turned. Gasps rose from the crowd. All eyes were on him now, including Josephine’s, who didn’t seem able to decide between emotions, and Dorian, who staggered back like he’d just been slapped with a sword.

Dorian’s chin came up, his eyes blazing. “We are _not_ in love!” he snapped.

It was not the reaction that the Inquisitor had been expecting. Anger mixed with hurt clogged his throat, and all he could do was stare at Dorian, agape.

Josephine’s hand flew up in shock. “Dorian!”

Dorian glanced at her, then at the rest of the Trevelyans. Would it be too much to ask the Maker if the father could just drop dead from the heart attack that seemed imminent, and spare them all from this embarrassing mess? And why did that look of disappointment on Max’s face make him feel so bloody guilty? With a stiff bow, he addressed everyone who was listening, which was, at this point, everyone. “I do believe that’s my cue to retire for the evening.” He smiled at the Inquisitor’s sister. “Thank you again for the delightful dancing, Lady Mirelle.”


	3. Foolish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and the Inquisitor have a fight.

It was shortly after Dorian’s departure that Max also left the party. He didn’t follow Dorian through the door that led to their quarters. Instead he headed outside, making his way up to the battlements.

Walking the wall, he didn’t encounter anyone other than the occasional guard on watch. Cullen had insisted that they not disband the watch, as the Inquisition still had enemies, and it also gave the soldiers stationed in Skyhold’s barracks something to do. However, being alone, out in the cold, suited his mood. Staring at the stars, he sorted through his feelings about Dorian, and his father, worrying over threads of doubt.

By the time he returned to his quarters, his fingers and toes were numb. But he’d worked a few things out.

As he’d expected, Dorian was waiting for him. His face was the picture of indignation. “You! Just what, exactly, were you thinking? Saying that? In front of half of Skyhold?”

“I thought...” Exasperated, Max snarled. “I thought I was telling the truth!”

“Whether it’s true or not is not the point!” Dorian snarled back. “The point is that one does not say certain things in public. Especially if one happens to be the Inquisitor with a reputation to uphold. And, in case, you’ve already forgotten, we had agreed to try to smooth things out with your family, not antagonize them!”

“Not if it means that any relationship I have with my family is based on lies!”

Dorian, unable to argue with that, simmered in silence.

“The main reason my father abandoned me was because he couldn’t accept what I am. My destiny from birth was to either serve the Chantry or the Templars. Instead, he got a mage. If he truly wishes to make amends, then he’s going to have to accept me – all of me, including the fact that I sleep with men.”

Dorian simmered in silence for another moment, digesting Max’s speech. Then he heaved a heavy sigh. “I understand your point. And I don’t disagree with your reasons.” He then laughed bitterly. “What a lovely thing to have in common, you and I: being grand disappointments to our fathers.”

“At least yours approved of you being a mage.”

“At least yours didn’t resort to blood magic in an attempt to change your tastes.”

“True,” Max said. “Can we stop fighting now?”

Dorian shifted his weight, crossing his arms over his chest. “Perhaps,” he said slowly. “As you insist that what you said is true, then I am still a bit miffed about the public nature of your love confession. Some things really are better done in private. With wine and candles, even.”

Max raised an eyebrow in surprise. “I didn’t realize that you were such a romantic.”

“Ah. Well. I do have my moments.”

Max made a sweeping gesture across their bedroom. “I don’t think we could get any more private than this.”

“True. However, it’s a bit too late now. It’s already been said, and you can’t take it back.”

Max closed the distance between them, reaching for Dorian, and pulled him into his arms. Looking straight into his eyes, Max spoke softly, but with conviction. “Dorian Pavus, I love you.”

Dorian’s eyes widened. Flustered, he then lowered his head, closing his eyes, as a soft sigh escaped him. “Growing up in Tevinter, I never thought – never hoped – to ever hear a man say those words to me.” He raised his gaze to Max’s. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, Dorian. Tell me how _you_ feel.”

Dorian sighed, averting his eyes again. “Must I say it?”

“Is it really that difficult to say?”

Dorian lifted his gaze. “That term I use for you – _amatus_ – do you know what it means?”

Puzzled, Max said, “You said it meant ‘lover’.”

“Not... entirely accurate. In Tevinter, _amatus_ refers to the person you believe to be ‘the one.’”

Max felt his heart go soft, filled with the sweetest ache.

“So. If you must know whether or not I love you, the answer is yes. Since the moment we fell into the Fade together, when I thought I had lost you, I have loved you. Even though I knew it was foolish, I couldn’t force myself to walk away.”

After such a declaration, there was only one logical thing to do: Max drew Dorian closer and kissed him.


	4. In Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the Inquisitor is working, Dorian receives a message.

The following morning found Dorian at the breakfast table in the quarters he shared with the Inquisitor, staring out the window at the snow-glazed mountain landscape beyond, and smiling to himself as he lavished butter on his toast. He was, after all, feeling extravagant, as he lingered lazily over breakfast, lounging in the new silk dressing gown that the Inquisitor had purchased for him in Val Royeaux. Naturally he had protested, but Max had insisted that the pleasure _he_ would receive from looking at Dorian in it would be worth the price. And, in truth, it _was_ exquisite on him, the pale colors only serving to accentuate Dorian’s dark hair and bronze skin.

Smiling into his coffee cup, he replayed the events of last night, from when Max had said he loved him, to the moment in which they had fallen asleep in each other’s arms. Sex with the Inquisitor had always been a playfully diverting activity. However, last night Max’s passion had ignited his, and their lovemaking had transformed into carnal frenzy, and had continued until they’d both collapsed, sweaty and sated.

Given his good looks and his previous position as the Pavus heir, he’d slept with a great deal of men back in Tevinter, but he’d never experienced anything like he’d felt last night. Sex and love mixed together. Requited love.

For the first time in a long time, he realized that he was happy.

He thought that nothing could darken his mood. At least until a messenger arrived with a letter. He didn’t recognize the elegant script that spelled his name, but, when he turned the letter over, he recognized the seal of House Trevelyan.

With trepidation, he broke the seal and read.

*****

This morning was no different than any other for Max, consumed by a series of meetings. First, Cullen wanted to discuss the best ways to deploy their forces, which were growing at an exponential rate. Then Josephine wanted to talk over the possible advantages of alliances with various nobles, favoring those with the deepest coffers. Cassandra, as the future Divine, wanted to talk about the position of the Inquisition regarding both the Chantry and the Order of the Seekers. The merchants wanted to inform him of a possible new trade route to Skyhold, one that had been made unusable by the presence of bandits. Which led him straight back to Cullen.

Despite the large number of different people he spoke with, he was grateful that no one – not even Josephine, who had witnessed it all – made any mention of his family or the scene his father had caused at the party. In fact, he had almost convinced himself that it had never happened.

That is, until he ran into the Iron Bull in the training yard. The Qunari gave him a knowing leer, greeting him with, “So, Boss. I hear that you and Dorian are in love.”

There was no point in denying it. Also, he knew that the Iron Bull wasn’t judging him, either. After one particularly long night of drinking with the Chargers, it had come out that their captain wasn’t too picky about the gender of the people who ended up in his bed. “What of it?”

“Nothing, really. I just always wondered what it would be like between two mages. I mean, when it gets really hot. Do sparks literally fly? Or have you ever set the curtains on fire?”

"Oh," Max said, suddenly awkward. “I... Well, one time, in the heat of the moment, Dorian accidentally caste Haste. It very nearly killed me.”

A low chuckle rumbled in the Qunari’s throat. “Thought so. Thanks, Boss.”


	5. Lady Trevelyan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian speaks with the Inquisitor's mother in private.

After a brief internal debate, Dorian sent the messenger back with his response.

He then finished his coffee, washed and dressed. Although he performed his ablutions with leisure, he arrived punctually in the gardens.

Lady Trevelyan had arrived before him. He found her sitting alone on one of the stone benches near the herb garden.

His first impression of her had been unsettling. First, she was much younger than he’d expected. She couldn’t have been much past forty. In fact, Dorian, who, at the age of thirty-two, was ten years the Inquisitor’s senior, was probably halfway between this generation.

Second, it was glaringly obvious that the Inquisitor had taken after her. They both possessed the same heavy, dark hair, white skin, pale blue eyes and sharp, striking features. The main thing that set them apart, other than their sex, was the grace in her bearing – as a lady of nobility, she carried herself with exacting poise. Unlike Max, who still retained the dramatic flair of a Free Marches Circle mage.

He approached her, they greeted each other, and, when she invited him, he sat down on the bench beside her.

“You wished to speak to me?” he asked, and braced himself for her reply. He rather expected that she would do her best to convince him – by threats, reasoning, or bribes – to leave her son.

He was therefore surprised when she said, “Please. Tell me about Maxwell.”

He could have pointed out that she had a whole fortress full of people who would be more than happy to sing the Inquisitor’s praises. Instead, he said simply, “Why ask me?”

“Of all the people at Skyhold, you must be the one who knows him best.”

“True,” Dorian said slowly. “What exactly do you wish to know?”

“What sort of man he’s become. What kind of life he leads. If he’s happy.”

He studied her grave expression, and wondered if Max was aware that his mother still cared about him. Yet, instead of approaching Max, she’d come to Dorian with her questions, as though she’d expected her son to reject her request. In that moment, Dorian had a strong inkling about just whose idea it had been to abandon the young Maxwell Trevelyan to the Circle.

He didn’t have the heart to treat this woman with disdain. He spoke plainly. “Madame, your son is a remarkable man. He saved the world.” Dorian paused, thoughtful. “He had power thrust upon him. Many men would be tempted to abuse such power, but your son, never. Instead he used his power to help others – anyone who asked for his aid, he gave it, regardless of their social standing, their race, or their previous mistakes. For this, he has won the respect of, and inspired, every person who has met him.”

She seemed pleased. “You admire him.”

“He’s done many great and glorious things. He deserves my admiration.”

“But... is he happy?”

“Perhaps, Madame, you are asking the wrong man that question.”

Lady Trevelyan primly folded her hands in her lap, and offered Dorian her profile. Strange how similar Max’s profile was to hers. “I do not deserve my son’s regard.”

Dorian bit back the first cutting remark that came to mind. Instead, he asked, “Because you let your husband send him to the Circle?”

In her lap, her hands twisted. She seemed to consider the nearby pots with their thriving stalks of elfroot for a moment before turning back to Dorian. “Because my husband would use that power for the sake of the Trevelyans.”

Dorian stiffened, immediately on edge. He narrowed his eyes. “In what way would he use it?”

“An alliance. With another powerful noble family.”

“What sort of alliance?”

“A marriage.”

Dorian’s body turned cold. Echoes of old outrage when his own parents had tried to force him into a marriage he didn’t want, seethed below his surface, bitter and sharp. “And you believe that he’ll agree to it?”

“My husband expects so. Maxwell has always been a dutiful son.”

Dorian choked out a brittle laugh. “Clearly you have an understanding of my relationship with your son. So, why tell me?”

“It is my hope that you can convince him to not marry.”

That was the last thing he’d expected to hear. Dorian was shocked speechless. It took him a moment to regain his composure. “Even though it would be detrimental to your family?”

“I’d rather he be happy.”

“You... surprise me, Madame.”

She gave him a long, assessing look, then nodded once, briefly. “Now. If you wouldn’t mind.... please tell me more about Maxwell.”


	6. Dutiful Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and the Inquisitor share a moment.

Dorian found Max in their quarters early that afternoon, writing letters at the desk.

“I had the most interesting conversation this morning,” Dorian announced.

The pen continued its scratchy trajectory across the parchment. Max mumbled a distracted, “Oh?”

“With your mother.”

The pen stopped moving. Max set it down, turning in his chair to give Dorian his full attention.

Although Dorian always enjoyed being the center of the Inquisitor’s attention, he did not relish what he was about to reveal. “Apparently, your family has arranged your marriage, and they also seem to expect that you’ll return to Ostwick with them for the wedding.”

“Oh.”

He’d said it so flatly, with no trace of emotion, that Dorian couldn’t read anything into it. He waited desperately for Max to say more.

And waited.

And waited.

“Is _that_ all you have to say?” Dorian finally snapped. “Don’t tell me you’re actually considering it!”

Max blinked, then his expression twisted into something akin to horror. “Maker’s breath, of course not!”

Relief washed over him. Just for a moment – one terrible moment – he’d been certain that his lover would chose familial duty over him. Closing his eyes, he drew he a deep, shuddering breath. When he opened them again, Max was standing in front of him.

Max lifted his hands, letting them settle gently on Dorian’s arms. “You really thought I might run off to get married?” he asked. Searching Dorian’s face, he found the answer to that question. Then he smiled, wry. “Even if I didn’t have you, I still wouldn’t marry. In case you haven’t noticed, Dorian, I prefer men.”

“Oh. Ha, ha. I’m delighted you find this so amusing,” Dorian replied with his usual level of sarcasm. “But you’re the man who went to the Conclave, against your wishes, just because your estranged father told you to. As your mother said, you’ve always been a dutiful son.”

Max’s hands slid up to Dorian’s shoulders. “That’s different,” Max said softly. “It was no great sacrifice to do my father’s bidding then.”

“And now?”

“Now that Corypheus is dead, I won’t let anything get in our way.”

Dorian felt like he was melting as the Inquisitor’s mouth sought and found his. He leaned in as Max’s arms encircled him, enjoying the feel of Max’s body – solid, warm, strong – against his. Even after all this time, the touch of Max’s tongue against his was enough to send his blood surging, singing through his veins.

Therefore, he felt a small pang of disappointment when Max drew back, looking serious. “Well. At least that explains the message my father sent. He wishes to speak to me. In private.”

Inside, Dorian was still reeling from Max’s lips. A part of him wanted to shout at the Inquisitor to drag him over to the bed and finish what he had started. Instead, he sighed inwardly. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“Ah... it’s probably best if you don’t.”

Dorian was secretly relieved. The Inquisitor’s father was a pious, self-righteous ogre, and Dorian had disliked him on sight. He stepped forward, slipping his hands up Max’s chest. “In that case,” he murmured seductively. “I’ll be waiting here and looking forward to your return.”

Max’s face lit up with surprise, but he was clearly pleased. “Dorian, you are an amazing man.”

Dorian smiled smugly. “I am, aren’t I?” he drawled. “Clearly you are a man who knows quality when he sees it.”


	7. Abomination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor meets with his father in private.

Bann Trevelyan, at the age of fifty-two, was a distinguished man. He still maintained a full head of hair, though now it was mostly white with a few lingering streaks of gray. As suiting the nobility, his clothing was perfectly tailored, and kept meticulously clean. Even if he had crossed through the courtyard, there was not so much as a speck of mud on his boots.

He was also a man who was accustomed to power, and knew how to wield it. Fortunately for Max, as Inquisitor he, too, had become adept in the wielding of power. So when his father informed him of the arranged marriage, Max did not hesitate to say no.

They were seated at the table in the war room. Max folded his hands upon the table between them as he met his father’s eyes. “What you ask is impossible,” he said flatly. “I am the leader of the Inquisition. I am needed here.”

His father scowled. But he did not become angry as Max had expected. “I suspected you would make that claim,” he said. “No matter. Although it would be more convenient for you to return to Ostwick, arrangements can be made to have the ceremony here.”

Max hadn’t expected his father to compromise so easily. However, he could not be swayed. “The location is not the issue. The issue is the ceremony itself. I have no desire to marry.”

Bann’s voice rose. “What you desire is irrelevant. This alliance is for the good of the family.”

Max’s lips tightened. He knew that more was coming. He waited.

“If that is not reason enough, then you should consider your Inquisition. Rumors have already begun circulating about your association with that... _abomination_. A marriage is the surest way to salvage your reputation.”

A flash of anger rocketed through him. “Dorian is not an abomination!”

“He is a Tevinter necromancer who has taken advantage of you and corrupted you by leading you down an unholy path. I can _not_ allow him to get in the way of what is best for this family.”

Max considered the coldness in his father’s expression. He felt his stomach sinking, even as the suspicion started nagging at him. “Father,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “What have you _done?”_

Bann leaned back in his chair, resolute. “I did what needed to be done.”

Panic streaked through him. The chair skittered across the floor as he jumped to his feet. Skirting the table, he banged his hip against its edge. Scarcely registering the pain, he hurried to the door, flung it open, and ran down the corridor.

He barreled through the doors that led to the Great Hall, through the door to his quarters, then up the stairs as quickly as he could. He’d faced Corypheus, hordes of demons and darkspawn, and had even fought dragons, but the fear he’d felt then was nothing compared to the terror in his heart as he pictured Dorian dead on the floor of their rooms, covered with stab wounds.

 _Maker, please_... he silently prayed as he scrambled up the last of the stairs to their quarters.

And came upon a scene.

In the middle of the room was Dorian, in a fighting stance, his magic staff in hand. Scattered on the floor around him were the bodies of several men, their flesh and clothing singed with electrical fire. As Max bounded up the stairs, Dorian whirled and aimed his staff at him. Recognizing Max, he lowered the staff with a sigh of exasperation. “You’re lucky I didn’t just kill you.”

Max moved towards him, picking his way over the bodies. “Are you okay?”

Dorian rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “I’m fine. Though I must admit that I wasn’t exactly expecting to be attacked by assassins in Skyhold. That I find unnerving. How did they even get in here?”

“They’re my father’s men.”

Dorian looked at him with surprise. “Your father....?” He trailed off, frowning. “I knew your father didn’t approve of us, but sending men to murder me strikes me as a little extreme.”

“Dorian. This isn’t a good time to joke.”

Dorian considered the grim expression on the Inquisitor’s face. Then he sighed heavily. “At least he underestimated me.”

Suddenly Max staggered back, flopping unsteadily down into Dorian’s favorite chair.

Dorian rushed to his side, kneeling down to peer up at his lover’s face, which was paler than usual, and even more grim. “ _Amatus?_ What... what are you going to do?”

The Inquisitor closed his eyes briefly. Met Dorian’s steadily when he opened them again.

“Sit in judgment,” he said.


	8. Judgment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor sits in judgment.

Josephine marked a note on her clipboard before lifting her gaze to the Inquisitor on his throne. “Next we have – well, he needs no introduction. The Inquisitor’s father, Bann Trevelyan.”

Max kept his expression neutral as two soldiers brought his father forward.

Bann’s eyes flashed angrily. “You have no right to judge me.”

“He is the Inquisitor,” Josephine responded primly. “He has every right.”

“You may be the Inquisitor, but you’re no son of mine,” Bann said. “You shame and embarrass the Trevelyan name. It was bad enough that you were born an abomination, but this...” He cast a glance at Dorian, who stood a few feet to the Inquisitor’s left. “The Maker will punish you for the unnatural way you and that necromancing spellbind degrade yourselves.”

Dorian stiffened, pained as he recalled how his own father had hurled similar words at him before he’d left home.

_Get out. You are no son of mine._

Yet the things this man had just said were even worse. It took all of Dorian’s willpower to remain silent. And how did his lover manage to sit there, listening to these terrible words, and remain so stone-faced?

Max’s gaze swung over to his mother. “Lady Trevelyan. Do you have anything you wish to say?”

His mother’s face was pale and pinched, though she lifted her chin with perfect composure. “Please, Maxwell. He’s your father. Have mercy.”

Max slowly folded his hands together, entwining his fingers. A familiar gesture to Dorian – it meant that Max was thinking about something very seriously. “By attacking Dorian, you have attacked the Inquisition,” he finally said. “I have seen greater evils than yours, but I will not abide your presence anywhere you could possibly harm us. So I banish you to the Anderfels.”

Bann cursed his son as the soldiers dragged him away.

Max turned to his ambassador. “Are we done, Josephine?”

“Yes,” Josephine said gracefully, though her eyes were oozing sympathy. “That is all for today.”

Max rose from the throne, then passed by Dorian without a word on his way out of the Hall.

Dorian decided that _this_ would not do. Turning, he hurried off after the Inquisitor.

After a turn in the corridor, he came across Max. He had his back to Dorian, one arm slung up against the wall. And his shoulders were shaking.

Dorian froze in uncertainty. He’d never seen the Inquisitor cry. Even after all this time, no one, not even Dorian, had ever caught Max in a moment of weakness. In fact, it was easy to forget just how young the Inquisitor was. “Ah... _amatus?”_

Max turned, wiping angrily at his tears. “Why did that have to be so hard?” he demanded. “Why does it _hurt?”_

Dorian knew what hurt felt like. He knew, too, that this was what he’d wanted – a real relationship. One that wasn’t always easy, fun, and sexy, but could be emotional, uncomfortable, and messy.

He’d never done it before, but he knew that his role in this scenario was to offer comfort.

He stepped up to Max with a reassuring smile. “You know... I do have a perfectly good shoulder you may use if you need it.”

With a little hitch in his throat, Max sank gratefully into Dorian’s waiting arms.


	9. Summerday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and the Inquisitor share another moment.

Two weeks later, Dorian watched from the balcony in their quarters as the Inquisitor said his farewells to his mother and sister.

Dorian thought about the past two weeks. Despite the judgment he’d passed, the Inquisitor had started building a relationship with his mother and sister again. Lady Trevelyan was more forgiving than Max or Dorian ever would have imagined... which, Dorian had thought but didn’t say, revealed a lot about Bann Trevelyan’s relationship with the rest of his family.

Also, it probably didn’t hurt that Max’s decision now put all of the family’s power directly into his mother’s hands.

Dorian smiled as Max finished his farewells with some awkward hugging.

Dorian was seated in his favorite chair, pretending to read, when Max appeared at the top of the stairs. Max smiled at him in greeting.

“Well, then!” Dorian chirped. “I take it that your family is on their way home?”

“Yes,” Max said, strolling in as if he owned the place. _Oh, wait_ – he did. “Oh, and my mother said that you and I would be welcome in Ostwick for Summerday. If we wanted to visit.”

Dorian eyed him curiously. “Really? The both of us?”

“Well, you _are_ a Pavus. So that does make you family.”

Dorian hummed. Then he smiled. “Well, I do seem to recall the weather in the Free Marches being much nicer than here.”

The Inquisitor, obviously pleased, beamed at him.

“Summerday, eh?” Dorian said thoughtfully. “How do you usually celebrate Summerday in Ostwick?”

“Like in most places, I suppose. Food, drink. A grand procession of children dressed in white. And a large number of weddings.” Max paused, looking at Dorian curiously. “Would you...?”

“Would I what?” Dorian prompted.

Max cleared his throat, suddenly looking everywhere but at Dorian’s face. “Never mind,” he muttered. “I just came to tell you. I’m supposed to be receiving a report from Leliana right now. You know how she feels about being kept waiting, so I should go.”

Dorian closed his book and stood. He then stepped up to Max, sliding his hands up to the Inquisitor’s shoulders. “ _Amatus_ , if you’re asking me whether or not I’d marry you, then... well, the answer is yes. If I could.”

Max’s gaze snapped up to his, full of wonder. Wonder which softened into love. “Dorian...”

Dorian’s lips twitched up in a coy smile. “Are you sure you want to go talk about spies now?”

“It’s... uh... not a matter of _want_ , Dorian.”

“I think you should just stay here. I could tell you about my feelings for you again.” His smile grew as Max’s eyes lit up again, and he glanced poignantly at the bed. “Or, if you prefer, I could just... show you how I feel.”

Max’s hands lightly circled Dorian’s waist. He returned Dorian’s coy smile with one of his own. “Can I have both?”

“Don’t be so greedy, _amatus,”_ Dorian murmured, but his arms were already around the Inquisitor’s neck, and he was kissing his lover all the way across the room and down to the bed.

 


End file.
